


Unmasked

by Malakia



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feels, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malakia/pseuds/Malakia
Summary: Hashirama is an artist that is in a rut. To find some inspiration, he goes to a local museum, bound and determined. Yet in his search, he stumbles upon something unexpected and so much better.





	Unmasked

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this prompt: 
> 
> i went to a museum to get some inspiration to draw and then i saw you staring at one of the paintings in awe so i drew you and then you saw my picture and i am dying of embarassment AU

Hashirama stared at the flowers that surrounded him in his greenhouse studio without really seeing them. He sighed dejectedly, pushed back his long black hair, before he looked at the open sketchbook on his lap. There were doodles of the flowers around him but nothing that really _spoke_ to him.

He was in an ‘artist rut.’ For as long as he has been drawing and painting, it came and went. This one though was one of the longest ruts he ever had. Yet as a world famous artist at 31, he couldn’t just hide away from the world; they were expecting _something_ and all of his supporters were dying to see his latest pieces. He just felt like nothing was _acceptable_ enough to show.

“Anija.” Hashirama blinked and looked up to see his brother and manager, Tobirama, standing at the entrance of the studio. His arms were folded over his chest with an expression most would call stoic. But Hashirama knew his brother well enough to see the hint of worry in his red eyes.

“Tobirama!” the artist greeted warmly. He stood up, leaving the sketchbook aside on the bench he had been seated on.

Tobirama gave his brother a disapproving look at seeing him still in his morning attire even though it was well near the afternoon.

Hashirama chose to ignore it as he walked over to the younger man.

“Still in your rut.” It wasn’t phrased like a question but Hashirama took it as such.

“Unfortunately,” he sighed with a sheepish grin. “My muses have left me.”

Tobirama huffed. “Then go find a new one.”

“It’s not _that_ simple,” Hashirama laughed. For all that he loved his little brother, art was just something Tobirama couldn’t understand even if he could appreciate it. The younger Senju loved his science and politics more, which the dark haired man was thankful for, as the other man could deal with the contracts and other things that a manager needed to do. Hashirama was hopeless at it.

“If it was,” the artist continued, “I wouldn’t be in such a rut.”

“And you think you’re going to find it here?” the white haired man challenged with a raised eyebrow. “You’re spent months here already, Anija. Get out of the house.”

“I do get out!” Hashirama protested, a little offended.

“Only when you _have_ to,” Tobirama pointed out with narrowed eyes. “When was the last time you went out for pleasure?”

Hashirama opened his mouth to counter but closed it again when he realized it was true. He hadn’t even realized it because technically he still went out for certain things. Just not for art, which had been too long.

He sighed but not entirely put out. “You’re right,” he agreed with a resigned smile. “It has been a long time.”

Tobirama huffed again but clearly preening at being right once more. “Get a shower and dressed,” he ordered as he began to walk away. “And get out the house.”

Hashirama blinked at him, confused. “You’re not going to join me?” he asked as he followed.

“I have better things to do,” was the retort. Tobirama looked at his watch. “And a meeting in an hour and a half.”

Hashirama looked at the wall clock as they entered the house. If Tobirama left now, then he would barely make it on time. The artist didn’t live in the city like his little brother as he preferred to stay well outside the limits with no neighbors for miles. For a man that loved being around people and seeing the world, he loved to have his space.

When he realized how much his brother risked, it made him beam.

“Thank you for coming by to see if I was okay!” he stated lively.

His brother froze mid-step just as he opened the front door. He turned to send his brother a sharp look.

Hashirama just continued to smile when Tobirama made no move to confirm or deny it. Instead, after a moment, he replied, “Have a nice day, Anija.” He then turned away and left.

Hashirama laughed with shake of his head. He then closed the door and went to go get ready.

A couple of hours later found him going through one of the local art museums. Well, ‘local’ for the Konoha National Art Gallery that is.

The Gallery was an enormous series of interconnected buildings that housed all sorts of artifacts that ranged from ancient to art from the last 100 years. Hashirama hoped to find some inspiration from the past, but so far was coming up with a complete blank.

All the pieces were stunning and awe inspiring to look at, but nothing he felt drawn towards. Even the people visiting the museum could not compel him.

Still, it was too early to give up hope, so he let himself wonder the galleries, sketchbook in hand and art bag over his shoulder.

An hour and a half later, he found himself going towards the seldom visited areas of the museum with lesser known artworks and artists. Nobody were in these galleries. It was sad since the art could be equally, or more beautiful, than what the ‘Masters’ have made. Maybe there would be _something._

He tried not to fall into a sulk at his rotten luck when he rounded a corner to a gallery and promptly froze. His eyes went wide and he felt his mouth drop a little at the sight before him.

Seated on one of the benches was a man with with short, spiky, dark hair. He was maybe around Tobirama’s age, dressed in jeans and a jacket over a black button up shirt. He wore an eye patch that covered all the upper half of the left side of his face. The right half had twisted scarring all over. The young man leaned a little to his left and forward, his forearm rested on his left calf while his other leg was bent out straight with a cane next to it.  His hands were gloved. And while his person certainly would catch anyone’s attention, it wasn’t what made Hashirama stop and have his breath taken away.

It was his expression.

Now, Hashirama had traveled the world and liked to think he had seen everything the world had to offer. He had seen the good and bad that humanity had, and as an artist had captured all manner of human expression. All people wore masks, even him to some degree, though he was very open with his emotions and opinions. He made it his passion to look beneath those masks and he seemed to have a knack for it. He always looked beneath the beneath. He didn’t realize, until now, how naive he had been.

A strong face, tilted a little to one side, looked up at one of the paintings. The one dark eye was soft, half-lidded, not wide as most tourists would be at seeing a masterpiece. It held such _longing_ though, like a sailor of old drawn to the sea, that it only added to the confusion of bliss the eye also held. There were touches of sorrow, exuberance, and, even hatred all swirling in the depth. The artist wasn’t sure if it was the reason that the younger man looked like it was about the cry.

The smile he had, teeth showing a little, looked very content and delighted. But the corners of the mouth were tight, the right side more so as the scars twisted to try and conform but failing. The man’s jaw was just a tad too tight to be relaxed. Hashirama thought of it as being self-deprecating and bitter. It should have looked out of place but it only added to the picture the man made.

To finish it off, the museum lights highlighted the man’s face perfectly. On the undamaged side that showed lovely cheekbones and smooth cheeks, on lovely pale skin, gave a forever youthful appearance to the area. But it was a juxtaposition to everything else of a man who had seen far too much in his life, seen far too many ugly things for someone his age with wisdom far beyond his years. The shadows on the scars made them more twisted with secrets and dark understanding. Something so horrifying next to something that showed a hint of what could have been, without all the scars and eye patch, made the moment almost surreal. As if a person like this shouldn’t exist at that moment but was; the meeting of man and fiend into one form.

Hashirama had never seen anything more open and raw, _so_ _brokenly_ _beautiful._

Before he could stop himself, Hashirama hastily sat down on the floor, trying to make as little noise as possible so not to shatter the man’s reverie. The littlest scrap of noise, like the turning of his sketchbook pages and fishing out a pencil from his bag, made his breath catch because it sounded loud in the big room. Luckily, the younger man was so enamored with what he was looking at that he didn’t seem to notice.

Hashirama’s heart was beating fast and his hands were shaking as his pencil touched paper. He didn’t even know where to begin to draw, but luckily instincts kicked in as the first stroke was made. After that, he let his hands do the work as he kept his gaze between the page and model.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed on the floor. Minutes, hours, years; it didn’t matter to him. His focus was just on what he drew on the page and the man in front of him. He marveled at how still his model was, and if it wasn’t for the even breaths, the artist might have assumed he was drawing a statue or a figment of his imagination.

At near the drawings completion, his focus shifted primarily to the paper. He had gone for a head shot to try and capture the expression as best he could. The lights, the shadows, the unguarded expression all flowed so well as if he was sitting next to the young man for a close up. But Hashirama still felt it could never compare to the real thing, the real beauty that sat in front of him.

He just added the finishing touches to the lips and eyes when he heard a choked sigh right next to him. He snapped his head up, eyes wide, to see that the younger man had moved and was now staring down at him with equally surprised expression. Hashirama hadn’t even heard him move!

The older man felt his face heat up a little. “Hello!” he said as he scrambled to stand up. The younger man stepped back just enough to allow him to, and Hashirama faced him fully with a sheepish smile. He was startled that they were nearly the same height, the Senju still the taller of the two. But unlike the long haired man’s build, the other man’s was more compact and slender.

The short haired man continued to stare at him with a mix of wonder and bewilderment. It amazed Hashirama at how adorable it looked on him and he immediately wanted to draw it.

Fighting down the urge, the older man rubbed the back of his head, still smiling.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your permission to draw you,” Hashirama apologized with a hint of pleading. “But you looked so lost in your thoughts, and so beautiful and awe inspiring, and I just _had_ to!”

The younger man continued to stare at him nearly dumbfounded, as if he wasn’t comprehending what Hashirama was saying.

The taller man beamed, not in the least bit put out. “Would you like to see?” he offered.

The other man blinked at him with his one eye, clearly a little startled. “Can- Can I?” he whispered. His voice was that of a mans but still held a hint of playfulness to it, like warm, joyful laughter in the middle of the night. Oh, oh oh! How Hashirama wished he could draw that voice!

“Absolutely!” the artist laughed, voice bright and loud. He ignored how his heartbeat picked up as he brought forward his drawing. He always got nervous when he showed off his work for the first time.

But perhaps it was a little different this time as he handed the sketchbook over. The younger man looked like the breath had been knocked out of him as he grasped it firmly in the right hand, his left occupied by the cane he leaned on. The Senju felt his heart break a little at the almost childlike astonishment.

With soft smile and eyes, the artist spoke before he knew what he was doing. “You looked absolutely _stunning,”_ he praised with a calm voice. “I’ve traveled the world and seen so many things. But I have never seen an expression like the one you made! I couldn’t help myself _but_ to try and capture it!” He chuckled softly, sheepish. “I don’t think I did you any justice though!” He laughed at the end, privacy to a joke of how all artists think their work was sub par.

The young man didn’t laugh with him but continued to stare down at the drawing. His head was bowed, eye roving over the artwork like a starving man seeing food for the first time. Hashirama grew concerned when the young man bit his bottom lip and, slow tears started to emerge and dropped on the paper, smudging the lines.

The artist could care less though at the moment as the shorter man began to shake. His eyes nearly popped out of his head and his heart raced for a whole different reason. He fought the urge to yell and question what was wrong. “Hey,” he whispered gently instead, trying to keep his voice steady, as he raised his hands and hovered them around his model. “What’s wrong?” He reached out and touched the man’s shoulder.

The young man jumped and blinked rapidly amongst the tears. “Wha-” He took in to what was happening, saw the wet paper, and began to panic. “Oh God- shit!- I’m sorry!”

He shoved the sketchbook into Hashirama’s hands and began to back away. It stunned the older man momentarily, never having seen such a visceral reaction to one of his pieces on such a personal level. He snapped out of his stupor as he saw the man’s shoulder began to shake more as the tears began to fall harder. The young man attempted to keep them away as he rubbed his right hand over the left side of his face but to no avail.

He let the sketchbook fall from his hands, landing loudly in the room, as he rushed over when the man began to sway. He grabbed onto the shorter man’s right shoulder and the other on his left elbow. The man still held his cane, knuckles white with its tight grip.

When the other man raised his head and allowed Hashirama to see his face, the Senju’s breath caught. He was _smiling._ Not just smiling but beaming. Such a genuine one that was full of warmth and elation. Yet still the tears fell and his eye looked so pained and shaken.

Such a beautiful contradiction.

“Are you alright?” the artist breathed as he resisted the urge to run to his sketchbook and draw.

The younger man let out a wet laugh with a nod of his head. “Fine, fine- shit!” he continued to grin as he tried to clean his face. “I just- I just need a moment!”

The man tried to pull away but Hashirama didn’t want to let go just yet as he seemed still unsteady on his feet. Instead, he gently corralled him to a nearby bench, the shorter man continuing to offer that he was fine.

Once he was seated, Hashirama backed off, giving the man some space to compose himself. He went back to pick up his fallen sketchbook, he honestly could say that the reaction was something he had not expected. Still, it gave him a sense of warmth deep in his chest to know he could affect someone to that degree. He hadn’t experience it in a long time.

Looking over at the other man, the artist took a moment to study him. He was now bent over, face in his hands, as he took slow and steady breaths. His right leg was extended out, slightly bent at the knee. The pant leg had risen up to where Hashirama could now see a bit of a prosthetic.

Rather than feel pity, the artist had a sense of admiration. He could only imagine what kind of past the younger man had. It must taken a lot of strength to survive and continue to live.

When he noticed the man was calmed down, Hashirama slowly approached and apologized. “I’m sorry,” he began, the shorter man’s head snapped up at him in surprise. “It wasn’t my intention to make you cry.”

“Wha- no! No!” the man quickly reassured as he waved both his hands frantically. “I should be the one to apologize!” Well that certainly surprised the artist, but before he could say anything the other man continued. “It- It just kind of... snuck up on me!”

Hashirama chuckled as he took a seat next to the right of the man. “It was... unexpected,” he agreed.

The man chuckled and smiled, not as big and genuine as before but still holding the same warmth as they made eye contact. Hashirama found it appealing, especially when the younger man rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

The other man’s gaze looked lower he saw the sketchbook in Hashirama’s hand. The artist had closed it and now rested in his lap.

“I didn’t ruin your picture, did I?” he worried as he raised his head again.

Hashirama chuckled with a shake of his head. “No,” he reassured. “My drawing is just fine!” In fact the tears only added to the piece of art when he had checked. Hashirama loved it!

The younger man gave a relieved sigh. “That’s great!” he exhaled, almost sheepishly. He turned his head away as his eye grew a little distant. “I just....”

Hashirama didn’t speak, very curious about what the other man had to say. He didn’t speak for a moment but Hashirama was patient.

“I just...,” the man began again as he came back to the present, “I just never seen myself look- look like _that!_ ” He looked at Hashirama out of the corner of his eye, looking a little embarrassed. “At least, not for a long time.”

Something inside the artist broke a little. It wasn’t pity but still a form of sadness, to know the younger man felt that way.

Hashirama smiled softly and said, “I only drew what I saw.”

There was a bark of laughter from the other man, quickly cut off. But Hashirama felt it, the self-deprecation with no warmth, and hated it. Something on the artist’s face must have given him away, because the other man shook his head and said sheepishly, “Sorry. Natural response.”

Hashirama frowned at that but the man just shook his head again. “I have a friend that is a photographer,” he started to explain. “He takes all sorts of pictures.” He waved a hand at the artist’s sketchbook. “And he has never taken a photo of me like- well like _that!”_ The words of ‘like I’m _beautiful_ ’ were left unsaid, though Hashirama could sense them in the space between the two.

It continued to break his heart.

Hashirama grinned through it, trying to keep it off his face. “Maybe I just have good luck then,” he chuckled, “to catch you in an unguarded moment. When you weren’t wearing a mask.”

His statement seemed to startled the other man, who looked at him curiously but with understanding. But then he smirked and agreed, “Yeah.... I guess you did.”

They stared at each other for a moment before, almost in sync, they both let out riotous laughter. It was too serious of a topic for strangers but for some reason it was just right in the moment.

Once Hashirama calmed down, he stuck out a hand and said with a smile, “My name’s Hashirama.”

The other man shifted to grasp it, smiling in equal parts with such warmth, as he replied, “Obito. Nice to meet you.”

Hashirama tried not to let his grip linger too long, before they broke apart. Still though, he didn’t want the interaction to end just yet. Obito hadn’t recognized his name, or if he did than he was good at hiding it. He was also interesting. The younger man had a warmth and draw to him that laid beneath layers of scars and history.  Hashirama would be lying if he said he didn’t want to know more about the other man.

“Obito,” he started, catching the younger man’s attention before their silence extended. “Would you like to get some coffee?”

Obito stared at him dumbfounded as a little scarlet coloring came across his cheeks. Hashirama found it adorable but didn’t understand why. “H-Huh?” the younger man questioned and flustered. “Li-like a d-date? We- we just met!”

Hashirama’s eyes widened, now realizing what he had said before and how it sounded. “No- not like a date!” he quickly corrected while he waved one hand and his own face heated up. He had to look away to calm himself and covered his face at his embarrassing blunder.

A moment later, he heard a choked sound and glanced back to see the other man had his face turned away but his shoulders were shaking. At first, Hashirama thought he was crying again but when the man looked back, the artist could now see a very poor attempt at trying to contain a smile.

Rather than be offended, Hashirama grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry,” he chortled, “what I meant is, that I still feel bad about making you cry earlier and I would like to pay you back for being my impromptu model.  Would getting coffee be okay? My treat.”

“Better be,” came the smart ass retort as Obito guffawed. Hashirama mimicked, finding it enduring.

“In all fairness,” Obito began when he calmed down. He used his cane to slap his right leg, the thudding sound echoed in the room. “If you don’t mind a slow pace, than I would kill for some coffee.”

“Absolutely!” Hashirama exclaimed, giddy for more time with the other man. “I think I saw a cafe around the corner from the museum. Would that work?” He didn’t want to imply that Obito couldn’t do it but he wasn’t sure how far the man could go.

Something flashed in Obito’s eye, something like seeing the artist’s words as a challenge. Hashirama admired it.

“Perfect,” Obito said as he began to stand. He didn’t ask for help as Hashirama followed. He looked at the artist with a big smile. “It’s my day off and I got nothing better to do.”

As the two of them began to walk, Hashirama inquired, “You said it was your day off. What do you do for a living?”

Obito smirked. “Biological engineering,” he shared. “I make prosthetics. Who better for someone to make them than a person who uses one everyday.”

Hashirama laughed powerfully at the brilliant logic.

The two then began to talk about Obito’s job that led into art. A little while later, as they stepped out into the late afternoon, it delighted Hashirama to no end to see it wasn’t just the museum lighting that made the younger man’s face so appealing. He silently hoped Obito wouldn’t mind being a more permanent model. He didn’t think he would ever tire of seeing how expressive he was, how he moved, how honest and open he was, but still somehow being mysterious. Hashirama could draw him forever.

As the duo walked down the sidewalk, Hashirama made a mental note to thank Tobirama for his wonderful idea for today.

 

* * *

 

**_Two and a half years later_ **

 

Hashirama smiled as he looked down over the balcony and down at the large group of people that milled about the Uchiha Gallery and Museum. People all dressed up to the nines, drinking wine and champagne, as soft music played in the background. He was also dressed up, a custom black tux and hair pulled back that was being held by a wooden clip. People were here to see the opening of his recent exhibition, almost an entire building of galleries dedicated to his muses.

Against the stark off white walls, many of his paintings hung. They stood out so beautifully. He had always thought the world of as his muse so many of the artwork were of different places and people, each gallery having the theme of the different continents he had visited. Four galleries on the first level with three more on the second. It was the last gallery, though, that held all the artwork of his greatest muse.

“Anija.” Pulled out of his thoughts, Hashirama turned to see his brother casually standing behind him with two flutes of champagne in hand.

“Ah, thank you, Tobirama,” Hashirama said as he graciously took one of the glasses. He then turned back to the guest below as the white haired man came to stand beside him, back leaning against the railing to focus more on the people of the second floor.

“You really outdid yourself this time,” Hashirama praised before taking a sip from his glass.

“You’re the one who did all the work,” his brother pointed out.

Hashirama chuckled a little. “But without you how could I get such a lovely place to showcase my artwork? They would have just been locked up in my house.”

Tobirama sent him a look that said ‘stop being ridiculous.’

Hashirama merely chuckled with a shrug of his shoulders because there was some truth to his previous statement.

“There they are.” The two brothers looked to see Izuna and Madara coming towards them. Izuna led the way with a small smirk while Madara was stoic as ever.

Hashirama grinned at the two as Tobirama sent them a short glare.

“Madara! Izuna!” he greeted as he shook both their hands. “I’m so glad the two of you could make it.

Madara scoffed. “As if we would miss a showing in a building _I_ own.”

“And I am forever thankful you let us rent the space for the next couple of months,” Hashirama appreciated.

“It helps that your stuff sells so well,” Izuna declared. “We already have people who are asking if some of the work is for sell.”

Hashirama’s smile dimmed. While it always made him happy that people loved his art so much to buy it, he would miss each piece. In this case, the artwork would leave here and go on tour. After, pieces would be sold to various places and people. It was the nature of the business but he didn’t think he could ever part with any of the art from the last gallery.

“The pieces have to go on tour first,” Tobirama cut in as he eyed the Uchiha brothers. “And if they’re still interested you’ll have them contact me.”

“Don’t insult me, _Senju,”_ Madara bit back. “We are aware, and you know we will.”

Tobirama raised a fine eyebrow and Hashirama could see the argument brewing as Madara looked ready to kill him.

But before he could intervene, he saw a look came to his younger brother’s eyes. Just a flash but enough for Hashirama to recognize the _glee._ “Speaking of pieces,” he conversed casually, only pausing to take a sip of his champagne. “The art in the last gallery is some of Hashirama’s finest. Have you seen it?”

Madara’s face suddenly became tight and drawn, while Izuna’s smile grew wider and shameless.

“I’m sure,” Madara replied, voice barely restrained. “But I would rather not know what Hashirama has been drawing of with my _cousin.”_

The look on his best friend’s face was so pained that, despite himself, Hashirama let out a booming and unapologetic laugh. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know Obito was an Uchiha!

Then again he didn’t know a lot of things when he first met Obito in what feels like a lifetime ago. He didn’t count on getting to know the man that they would become friends. Hadn’t even recognized when Obito had become his muse that very day. And he certainly didn’t know how _much_ and _hard_ he would fall in love with the younger man.

Now he knew how the master artists felt whenever they found their muses in human form and fell in love. It was a need and longing to constantly know their form, both body and soul. To capture their essence on paper, or canvas, or any thing they could get their hands on. And unlike some masters of old, Obito loved him back!

Hashirama wouldn’t describe their beginning as a whirlwind romance. It was more like pieces of a puzzle that fell into place. They started off friendly and would meet every once in awhile for coffee or lunch. Sometimes Obito would even model for him that scratched the artist’s urge that never seemed to go away around the other man. And once Hashirama started to get to know Obito better he found himself being more attracted to the Uchiha. And he could say that Obito felt the same way.

So six months in their friendship, that Hashirama would deny he had been keeping count of, they both agreed to a date. And if it didn’t work out, they at least could still be friends. But now?

Now, Hashirama couldn’t imagine a time without Obito.

“Stop making that face!” Hashirama heard Madara snap and it drew the Senju out of his thoughts.

He blinked and looked at Madara who was glaring at him.

“You were smiling stupidly,” the Uchiha explained with a frown. “Only one thing ever makes you make that face now. Stop thinking about my cousin.”

Hashirama just beamed. “Never,” he vehemently promised.

The groups reaction was hilarious. Madara groaned, Tobirama rolled his eyes, and Izuna just laughed.

“Speaking of Obito,” Izuna jumped in. “Is he here? I haven’t seen him and I thought he might be glued to your side, since it will be the first Opening he will be attending.”

“Not yet,” Hashirama replied, a little sad. “He had work today and then needed to go get Kakashi and Rin.”

Izuna smirked. “Does he know?” he questioned with a tilt of his head. “About the gallery?”

Hashirama grinned as he brought a finger up to his lips. It made him even more excited about tonight, to show how important Obito was to Hashirama. “My biggest surprise for him yet,” He chuckled with a wink.

Izuna just laughed, nearly a cackle.

Just then Hashirama’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He drew it out and saw it was just a simple text but it made his heart flutter. He passed his flute to Tobirama and excused himself. “My lovely muse has arrived. I need to go get him.”

His brother just gave him a dry look as Madara groaned in the background. Hashirama chose to ignore it all as he waved his goodbyes.

In no time, barring the guests that tried to stop him to talk, he made his way out of the side door that connected the building to an indoor garage. It was a brisk walk over the bridge when he heard a bored tone. “I don’t know why we just can’t walk in.”

At the end of the walkway there were three people. Their backs were toward him but Hashirama instantly recognized Rin, Kakashi, and his muse, Obito.

“I told you already Bakashi,” Obito snapped, “that you and Rin can go inside already. Hashi told me earlier today he wanted to bring me in himself.”

Rin giggled as Kakashi bemoaned, “Maa, Maa, I didn’t even _want_ to be here.”

“It’s called _networking,_ Kakashi,” Rin giggled as she threw a light punch at the man’s shoulder. “More clients who might be interested in buying your work.”

The silver haired man just sighed dejectedly. It made Rin giggle again as Obito bit out, “You didn’t _have_ to come, you know, you asshole.”

“Still,” Hashirama interjected that let the trio know he was here, “I’m glad you could make it.”

The three turned but Hashirama’s eyes were only on Obito. He couldn’t stop the smile that grew on his face or how his breath caught. His partner made an excellent figure in a sharp tux and he was happy to see that today he didn’t need use of his cane or crutch, though he still wore his gloves. The artist’s eyes did widen a little when he say Obito’s eye patch.

It looked like the normal one he used to cover his left eye. But instead of it being just blank, there was a stitched red rose in full bloom over where the eye was, with green vines coming from it and covering the rest of the patch.

Hashirama’s heart picked up pace at seeing it. He had gotten it for Obito as a gift for their first Christmas as a couple. The younger man had complained once that his normal patches sometimes chaffed his face, so Hashirama had gotten something soft but durable and had the flower hand stitched into it. His partner has loved the gift but pointed out that it was too fine and expensive for him to wear all the time. The artist had sulked but his lover reassured him that he did love the gift, but he never wore it.

Until tonight that is.

When Obito raised an eyebrow at him while Rin giggled, Hashirama tilted his head to the side. “You’re wearing that silly smile again,” the Uchiha explained as he strolled over to him.

Hashirama beamed. “I’m in love,” was the only explanation he could offer.

Obito huffed with a small smile on his lips and a light blush. “You’re an impossible idiot.” Yet even as he said it, his hands reached out, took hold of Hashirama’s face, and pulled him forward.

The older man excitedly followed and wrapped his arms around Obito’s waist and settled them on the his muse’s lower back. As his lips firmly pressed against his partner’s rough ones, he took a moment to relish it. He breathed in his lover’s scent, something warm but dark that reminded him of autumn.

All too quick, Obito pulled away just far enough so they could look at each other. The artist’s breath caught at the soft look, a small smirk and a half lidded eye.

“But you’re my impossible idiot,” he hummed. “So I guess it’s okay.”

Hashirama couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his mouth before he captured Obito’s lips again.

He tightened his grip at feeling the Uchiha’s laughter against his chest and would have been more than happy to continue when there was a loud cough. It reminded the artist that they weren’t alone.

He pulled back to look behind his partner to his two other guests. Rin giggled and grinned brightly at the two of them while Kakashi still wore a bored look. “Don’t you two make a pair,” Rin complimented as Obito, who now wore a light blush, moved out of the way and beside Hashirama, one hand firmly in the artist’s grasp.

The older man made to thank Rin for her words when Kakashi added, “Even if Obito’s eye patch is a bit much.”

“Hey!” Obito’s posture became defensive as he glared at his best friend.

“Is it?” Hashirama wondered as he casted a glance at his partner and back at the other two adults.

“Of course not!” Obito quickly soothed while Kakashi responded,

“Absolutely. Rin agrees with me.”

The silver haired man seemed entirely too pleased at his teasing even when Rin jabbed him with her elbow with a disapproving frown.

Hashirama could feel one of his massive sulks coming as he pouted. He really loved Obito was wearing his gift. But before his mood could go further, there was a squeeze on his hand, his only warning, before a pair of lips were pushed firmly against his.

Never one to spurn Obito’s kisses, he unfortunately had little time to press back before the younger man pulled away. “Ignore him,” Obito instructed as he squeezed Hashirama’s hand again and peered at him determinedly. “It’s perfect. I’m wearing it, and that’s all that matters.”

Hashirama could only gape, completely enraptured by his lover. It took his breath away. The intense look, which almost could be viewed as terrifying, was softened by the reassurance and joy in his eye. All he could think at that very moment was how much he loved the man. He smiled and squeezed Obito’s hand back in response.

Before he could lean in and kiss his lover again, Obito rounded to his friends and snapped comically at Kakashi. “And quit trying to make Hashirama sulk!”

“Maa,” the photographer lazed with a teasing smile. “It’s so much fun.”

“Quit it you two,” Rin finally cut in. Hands on her hips, she sent Kakashi another disapproving glance before she smiled at Hashirama.

“Really, it’s perfect,” she consoled. “Given the evening and what you told us to wear.” She then grabbed the silver haired man by the arm and pulled him forward.

“Now come on!” she exclaimed excitedly as Kakashi tried to protest to the handling. “We have an Opening to attend!”

Obito released a relieved sigh as his two friends passed them. The whole scene made Hashirama laugh as he also pulled his muse toward the museum.

Once inside, the two groups separated, Rin dragging Kakashi further into the party while Hashirama led Obito to one of the hors d'oeuvre tables when the younger man admitted he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

As they ate and drank a little, Hashirama watched the crowd and saw how curiously some of them looked at Obito. The older man hoped that it was because they had seen the gallery, rather than just because of Obito’s scars, that they would see what the artist saw and knew every day. The extraordinary man that was underneath the wounds- that he was much more than them.

Hashirama could also see that Obito noticed the looks too. It spoke volumes about how long he had lived with the scars that the stares didn’t affect him. Obito had said his scars were apart of him and he couldn’t- wouldn’t- hide them. And while he often wore his scars with pride, even for the most accepting individual they could still have some reservations.

So Obito wore his mask, one Hashirama had seen often when they went out in public. His muse’s eye a bit too tight with a smile not as big. He wasn’t as open in his posture, though he was still relaxed and inviting.

Hashirama was always guilty for the thought, but he liked the fact that Obito didn’t open himself up to the world. It was in private that the younger man allowed himself to be free and open with no reservations. The artist ate up those moments and tried to capture them in his paintings and drawings. He coveted them greedily.

Yet at the same time he wished to show the world how wonderful Obito was. So he was willing to show everyone, willing to push back his greediness and share those moments. It was why he wanted a full gallery dedicated to his partner.

Surprisingly, no one approached them to talk. The people would smile and greet them but then went their way. Hashirama hoped it was in seeing an artist and his muse, and kept away to watch the couple. But each person that left, he couldn’t help but notice Obito’s tight smile. He did his best to reassure his partner while he stayed firmly by the man’s side and kept one hand always on him.

When Obito had his fill of food, Hashirama’s heartbeat picked up as he spoke. “You ready?” he asked as he squeezed Obito’s hand.

Obito grinned and waved his free hand. “Lead the way.”

The artist giggled like a child as he led his lover toward the stairs. He didn’t want to wait to show Obito his dedicated gallery. It had been nearly impossible for him to not blurt out to his lover what he was doing these past months. But he did, and he wasn’t going to wait a minute more! Plus, he couldn’t risk a guest coming up and revealing the surprise.

As they made their way forward, a sudden voice spoke up from behind them. “Are you going to hide your muse away so soon, Hashirama?”

Both men stopped and turned. Hashirama blinked, almost unable to recognize the bright red hair and voice that he hadn’t heard in years. “Mito?” he wondered. The woman grinned and he laughed. “Mito!” He felt Obito let go his hand, which allowed the artist to give the woman a friendly hug.

“It’s good to see you again,” he exclaimed as he pulled back and let her go. “I didn’t even know you were back in town!”

Mito was still looked lovely as ever. They had dated when they were in college and a few years after. They broke up when she had moved away. The years when they had dated, Hashirama could say that he did love her at one point, but those feelings had subsided into being more friendly during the relationship. They also failed in comparison to what he felt for Obito, even from the very beginning.

“Visiting,” Mito replied with a smile and hands folded in front of her. “I was invited to come by one of the guests tonight.”

“That’s wonderful!” He turned to take Obito’s hand to introduce him. He paused though at seeing his partner a polite distance away but clearly closed off. He still looked casual, with hands in his pockets and an easy smile, but his dark eye didn’t hold the same brightness or warmth. It almost looked like a mix of discontent and strife. Then he blinked and the warmth returned.

Hashirama tilted his head to the side as he reached out his hand. Obito just shook his head as he firmly grasped the artist’s hand. The older man decided to let it pass for now.

“Mito,” Hashirama began excitedly as he brought Obito forward, “this is my partner, Obito Uchiha. Obito, this is Mito Uzumaki.”

“Nice to meet you,” the younger man greeted and stuck out his hand. “I’ve seen drawings Hashirama has done of you.” He gave her a vibrant smile. “But you’re certainly more beautiful in person.”

Mito smirked, pleased. “Certainly a charmer,” she chuckled as she shook his hand. She casually examined over his form and it caused Obito to stiffen. “And handsome too,” she continued. “I see why you became Hashirama’s muse.”

Taken aback, Obito blinked at her, mouth slightly dropped and with a wide eye. “Huh?” he asked ineloquently.

Mito’s smile turned sly and appreciative.

Hashirama laughed at seeing Obito’s cheeks gained a lovely shade of red. The younger man would always say that it didn’t look attractive on him but the artist would deny such claims. The blush made him even more appealing.

Unable to stop, Hashirama pressed himself firmly to Obito’s side and wrapped an arm around his waist to pull his partner close. He felt his muse’s arm wrap around his shoulder to accommodate the new position. The artist leaned in to kiss the right side of man’s face. He was rewarded with Obito’s blush growing darker.

Mito’s eyes were bright with mirth while Obito coughed into his fist to clear his throat. “Thank you,” he mumbled sheepishly, casting his eye aside. “But honestly I don’t see myself as Hashirama’s muse; just his model.”

Mito looked unimpressed as she raised a fine eyebrow. “Really?” she asked. “The gallery-”

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” Hashirama quickly interrupted. Refusing to let go of his hold, he tried to lean forward as best as he could. He brought a finger to his lips and closed one of his eyes. “It’s a surprise!”

When he leaned back, he saw the adorable bewilderment on Obito’s face as Mito’s eyes widened.

“You mean he doesn’t know?” she remarked.

“Know what?” Obito asked while he regarded the two. “What surprise?”

Hashirama just beamed, resisted the urge to say it, while Mito continued to look at him in disbelief.

Then she grinned, sly and fond. “I see,” she spoke softly. She raised a hand and patted Obito on the arm comfortingly. “No need to worry,” she soothed. “But I best leave you two before Hashirama explodes in excitement.” She winked as she turned away but paused, looked back, and added, “But let’s just say that if I was a different type of woman, I would be very jealous.”

She then sauntered away, leaving a very confused Obito and a very amused Hashirama.

Obito turned his head to look at his partner and made to ask what she was talking about but Hashirama escaped his lover’s grasp and pulled him along. “You’ll see!” the artist promised as the two of them made their way towards the stairs.

It took a moment to tackle the steps with Obito’s prosthetic leg. They could have taken the elevator but his muse liked the challenge and it filled Hashirama with a sense of pride for his partner at seeing how well it moved. Normally he would be fine, but only when his muscles got sore or strained did Obito have to resort to using his cane.

The younger man had explained how, due to an accident, he had gotten his scars and lost much of his right leg up to mid-thigh. But thanks to advancements in technology and Obito’s own tenacity, he now had a leg that nearly moved like a natural one. It was just stairs were a bit tricker since it took a moment for the leg to bend at the knee like it should.

When the two of them reached the top, Hashirama ushered them toward the last gallery. He couldn’t stop his broad smile or how hard his heart was beating. He was practically shaking!

As they finally stepped inside the gallery, Hashirama only had eyes on Obito’s face. The younger man was all smiles until he saw what was inside. Then it slowly fell away, replaced with a wide eye and a dropped jaw as he took in their surroundings. His posture was completely lax, so much so that if Hashirama hadn’t had a firm grip on his hand, it would have fallen limply to the Uchiha’s side. It almost looked like he had stopped breathing, completely rooted on the spot.

All exhilarated smiles, Hashirama silently led them further inside.

The entire gallery dedication had nothing but paintings and drawings of Obito. The artist walked them over to the first thing people saw, a small temporary wall full of sketches. Some finished while others were half done. At the dead center of it, there was the drawing that Hashirama had done the first day they met- tear stains and all.

They stopped in front of the wall where Obito could see all the drawings Hashirama had done. The artist wrapped his arms around his lover, completely plastered to his right side. He had to chuckle at how limp Obito’s arms were when he moved them so he could get in closer.

“Do you like it?” he whispered into his partner’s ear.

Obito shivered in his arms as he let out a near wheezy sigh. Still though, it pleased the artist to see the barest nod of his head.

Hashirama smiled into his lover’s ear before he leaned forward and kissed his check.

“Come on,” Hashirama urged as he began leading Obito around the wall. “I want to show you my favorite piece.”

“There’s more?” the younger man asked breathlessly.

Hashirama caught his partner’s eye and felt his smile grow. “So much more.”

They turned the corner and more of the room opened up. Around them guests flitted about from piece to piece. It brought Hashirama so much joy at seeing how active and full the room was. It certainly had been the most crowded and visited of the galleries tonight.

He could feel people’s gazes on them as the two of them moved to the center of the room. There was another resurrected wall but rather than smaller artworks, this one held one large painting.

In Hashirama’s opinion, it was his most ambitious piece of art to date. As tall as him, he had worked on the painting that took nearly a year to finish. He barely completed it on time for this exhibit. And even then he wasn’t fully happy with it, but trying to capture the moment of when the artist realized how deeply he was in love with Obito was no easy feat. He highly doubted he would be able to, but he was more than happy to try and spend the rest of his life to find out.

The painting depicted Obito sitting in Hashirama’s garden surrounded by flowers in full bloom. He faced the viewer, seated at the corner edge of a bench of a small patio set. He wore nothing but a pair of sleep pants with one leg tied up to the amputated thigh. With a bare chest, it showed off his mismatch and severely scarred skin on his right side, the product of the accident and skin grafts. In one hand he held a coffee cup and his forearm crutch leaned on the bench to his right.

But the thing that Hashirama hoped captivated the most attention was Obito’s face. He wore a soft smile that showed a little teeth and was tilted slightly upward more on the left. It made the scars in that area twist beautifully even if it looked almost painful. His dark eye was crinkled around the corner and half lidded with unbridled bliss and fondness. Hashirama loved this piece even more since it was one of the few works where Obito wasn’t wearing his eye patch.

Unlike what one would think, the area wasn’t as damaged as the right. It was paler from the lack of sun, had some mild scarring, and the eye socket was flat. There had been too much damage to the eye area during the accident, so the doctors had been forced to sew it shut. But even without the second eye, it was still conveyed emotions. Like the crinkles around the eye socket, similar to its’ counterpart.

To top it all off, how beautiful and ridiculous the man in the painting was, he wore a flower crown on top of his messy dark hair.

Hashirama brought the two of them close to the painting. He watched in rapt attention at Obito’s slacked face. He beamed brightly before he looked at his work as well. He leaned his body against his partner’s as he remembered the morning.

 

* * *

 

_Hashirama stumbled out of the house, coffee cup in hand, as he made his way to the garden. It was never said he was a morning person and he had every intention to stay in bed this weekend with Obito. Those plans had been quickly dashed though when he woke up and said partner wasn’t in bed next to him._

_Unhappily, the older man arose and went to search, and hoped to coax his lover back to bed. Unfortunately, he was not in the house and the smell of coffee was too strong._

_After he grabbed a cup, the artist had gone out to the gardens for his search. Luckily it was warm out, that it allowed him to roam in just sleep pants and bare feet._

_He thought Obito would be in his studio as the Uchiha loved to admire his work. Since Hashirama had given the open invitation for Obito to come inside, his partner had taken every opportunity to visit. Not that the Senju minded since he spent most of his time there anyway._

_When Hashirama found the younger man wasn’t, he pouted and went around the building to the other side. His garden extended around the greenhouse and was almost maze like if you didn’t know where to go._

_It took a moment to find his wayward muse and found him in an area that was closed off except for one wall that allowed a person to view the rest of his forested estate._

_When he had turned the corner to the area, taking a sip of his coffee, he nearly choked on the liquid at the sight Obito made._

_He froze completely on the spot with his breath catching. Obito was seated at the corner of the bench, head turned to study the landscape. The younger man hadn’t noticed the artist’s presence yet, and Hashirama was hard pressed to move forward and disturb the scene._

_The way the light and shadow played over Obito’s person made him look almost ethereal but still touchable. He was otherworldly, the flower crown adding to the picture, but Hashirama knew if he stepped forward his muse would be more than happy to welcome him. And the artist would be more than willing to come just to be wrapped in Obito’s arms, because he knew the other man would never hurt him._

_He would be the content if he could just have this man, not just the view, forever._

_The thought terrified Hashirama as, in that moment, there were two truths made bare that he had subconsciously been denying._

_In some ways, Hashirama wore his own mask when he went out into the world. He always wanted to have people be happy even when he was hurting. Somehow Obito, had wormed his way beyond the love and friendship that the artist showed and gave the world. The Senju was aware that he wasn’t perfect, but Obito took those broken pieces he had seen and kept them close to his heart, never held it against the older man but kept them safe._

_The other revelation was that, if in that very moment Obito wanted to end their relationship, Hashirama would never be the same. He would be a broken man, only half living because how could he live fully if Obito wasn’t by his side? But at the same time, Hashirama also knew that if the younger man did try and end it, that unlike his past loves and relationships he had easily left go of, he would fight tooth and nail to return to Obito’s side. That he would do everything in his power to fall under his partner’s graces and love again._

_Those thoughts terrified him because of dark they were. But in the same breath it exhilarated him because he was Obito’s and Obito was his._

_But it felt wrong to think that since the younger man wasn’t an object. He had his own life and friend. The artist was willing to accept that._

_The dark emotions clashed with his ideals. They warred inside him, and caused so much uncertainty because he had never felt this way before- about_ **_someone_ ** _before._

_Then Obito turned, spotted him, and all those thought came to a crashing halt. He had to grip his coffee cup tightly just so he wouldn’t shake and weep! It felt like the air had been knocked out of him at the way the younger man looked at him._

_At the same time, something warm and solid filled his chest, almost making him want to choke. It slowly started there and then spread out to his entire body. It gave him such energy he never he had before. It made him almost light headed._

_“Morning!” Obito greeted with a raised cup. His voice was a little rough, probably the first words he had spoken that morning._

_Hashirama couldn’t respond at first. His head was still jumbled with his thoughts that had just occurred a second before._

_His emotions must have been telegraphed on his face because Obito’s morphed into one of confusion and concern. “Hashi? You okay?”_

_“I’m fine,” Hashirama winced at how strained his voice sounded._

_More worry bled on Obito’s face and he looked ready to stand to come to the artist’s aid. The artist had to fight down a sob at the thought because of how beautiful and caring his partner was._

_Not wanting to disturb Obito from his spot, Hashirama quickly approached while he cleared his throat. “Really, I’m fine,” he promised and was thankful that his voice sounded better, though the warm feeling never went away._

_Obito merely eyed him with suspicion that made Hashirama grin._

_Unable to stop himself, he swept down for a quick kiss before giggling as he pulled away. He probably looked as ridiculous as he felt!_

_The younger man just rolled his eye and moved his forearm crutch to let Hashirama sit next to him._

_“Your flower crown looks lovely,” Hashirama complimented as he straddled the bench. He admired the ingenuity of it, the base a bunch of twigs that had been made into a circle with the flowers interwoven into it._

_“Thanks,” Obito laughed before he took a sip of his coffee. “Made you one too!” He then turned, faced Hashirama, and grabbed one off the table that Hashirama, much to his embarrassment, hadn’t seen._

_Still, the Senju laughed, overcome with affection as he leaned forward so Obito could place it on his head. It fit him perfectly and when the artist pulled back, the Uchiha looked at him for_ _inspection with one eyebrow raised._

_Then he busted out laughing. “Now you really look like a flower child!” he chortled, having to place his drink on the table._

_“Hey!” Hashirama pouted. Though they both loved to garden and nature, Obito would sometimes tease the older man by saying he reminded the younger of a hippy. “I could always still cut my hair!” came the empty threat._

_When his laughter went down to soft giggles, Obito looked at him with a merry eye and said, “Don’t you dare!”_

_Before Hashirama could say anymore, his lover reached out with both hands. He reached around the artist’s head, interlaced his fingers into the thick, silky strands, and then pulled Hashirama forward until their lips met._

_The kiss was firm and meant to be brief but it sparked a deep desire in the Senju. He placed his coffee aside before he reached out and firmly grasped Obito’s head. He pressed deeper and shivered at the groan that the younger man let out. The artist let out a responding sound before he hauled his partner into his lap._

_Obito’s left leg hooked under Hashirama’s right as their chest pressed up against each other. His muse’s arms went fully around the Senju’s shoulders but refused to be removed from the artist’s locks. When he began to play with the older man’s hair, Hashirama moaned and tried to keep him impossibly close by using one hand to keep a firm grip on Obito’s head and moved the other to his partner’s lower back._

_Hashirama let the kiss, keeping it intense but innocent, linger on for a few more seconds before he pulled back. Both of them were panting a little while Hashirama admired Obito with half lidded eyes that was more adoring than heated. The Uchiha stared back at him with a wide eye, licked his lips, and shivered in Hashirama’s grasp._

_The artist leaned forward and gave his partner a small peck on the lips. “I love you,” he whispered against them. He had said the words before but this time they were different. It spoke not of a feeling but a promise. A promise of something deep in his heart that three little words couldn’t adequately say. The same feeling like the warmth that he still experienced._

_Hashirama watched as Obito’s eye softened and beautiful smile lit up his face that stole the artist’s breath. It was the same look that he had given the Senju when the older man had walked into the garden._

_The younger man leaned in to give a light kiss of his own. “Love you too,” he whispered back._

_Though he had heard the words before, in the new context of his blooming realizations, Hashirama began to giggle. Powerless to stop, he leaned forward and began to pepper kisses on Obito’s mouth between escaped sounds. His partner began to respond in kind as the artist trailed his kisses along Obito’s cheek and down. His muse’s giggle soon turned into squawked laughs when Hashirama reached his neck and started blowing raspberries into the skin._

_It soon devolved into a tickle fight with Hashirama having the upper hand. It only stopped when one of them hit Obito’s coffee cup and spilled the drink over the table._

_One quick clean up later and a new coffee for Obito, the two of them situated themselves where his lover leaned against the Hashirama’s chest as they stared out at the forest area._

_The artist basked in the quietness. He smirked and nuzzled against Obito’s head. He kissed behind his partner’s right ear, knocking their flower crowns together. The younger man laughed and told him to stop but still moved up enough to be closer to the older man. Seeing that as more of a permission, he continued to cuddle, every once in while taking a sip of his own drink._

_He knew he would have to talk to Obito about these new thoughts and feelings. But for now, he would live for this moment. He would enjoy it, relish it, and do everything in his power to keep it._ _Because seeing Obito so open and carefree?  He would be willing to spend the rest of his life with this man to always see it._

 

* * *

 

There was a sharp pull on his hand that forced Hashirama out of his memories. Before he could even comprehend what was going on, Obito’s hand slipped from his and he nearly lost his balance as his partner rushed away. “Obito!” he called as he spun around to see the young man, who was politely but forcefully, pushing his way through the crowd.

Panicked, Hashirama quickly tried to follow. He managed to keep an eye on his muse until the entrance of the gallery.

He looked around just in time to see a door marked ‘Private’ closing. Not seeing Obito anywhere else, and with a gut feeling, he moved toward the door.

“Obito?” he gently called as he stepped inside. It was dark, the only light offered by the big window that had a view of the city. It was a large office, probably Madara’s, and in one corner of the room, near the window, was Obito.

He leaned against the glass and Hashirama saw how he hid his face in his hands. The older man’s chest grew tight at seeing his partner was shaking.

“Obito?” he whispered as he stepped fully inside and closed the door. He rushed over to his lover’s side. “Obito, are you alright?” he asked as he wrapped his arms around the younger man, not bothering to figure out if he should or not. Mind going a mile a minute, he didn’t even give time for Obito to respond before he questioned, “What’s wrong? Was it something I did? Was the gallery too much? Was-”

There was a barked laugh, wet but decidedly happy. “Damn it, Hashi,” Obito spoke, voice strained but with a light note to it. “Everything is fine. Everything is more than fine!”

He turned in Hashirama’s grasp to reveal the single stream of tears that ran down his face to mix with his ridiculous wide grin.

Confused, but happy, the Senju leaned his forehead against his partner’s, and tried to allow the younger man to try and catch his breath through the tears. Obito wrapped his arms around his shoulders and used Hashirama as a support. He then closed his eye.

Hashirama rubbed small patterns on the Uchiha’s back, remained quiet, and just let his partner draw on his comfort. His heart felt heavy with guilt even if Obito continued to smile. He hadn’t meant to make him cry!

They stayed that way for a few moments, then Obito whispered, “Sorry.” He opened his eye and looked at Hashirama. There was unbridled mirth but the artist could almost see the self-deprecation behind it. “I just didn’t want to cry like a baby in front of your admirers.” The laugh that followed at the end sounded flat and wet but warm.

“I’m sure they would have understood,” was Hashirama’s immediate response.

It made Obito laugh wistfully. “Always looking for the best in people,” he chuckled before he leaned in for a kiss.

The Senju was more than happy to oblige. The kiss was light and firm, not deep to spark anything but to offer comfort. Obito’s hands began to play with the artist’s hair, stroking the locks slowly.

When the two of them pulled away from each other, Obito’s tears had stopped but there was a certain heaviness in his eye that broke Hashirama’s heart. He didn’t see it often, the self hate mixed with almost painful wistfulness, but it was usually when Obito was feeling particularly low about himself. Still, the younger man looked at the artist so fondly and joyful that it made Hashirama’s heart beat faster.

“...I still hate how well you see me,” Obito finally sighed. His voice was soft, almost laughing, but firm. “You don’t even have to try. Not even Rin and Kakashi can it sometimes.”

Hashirama relaxed and smiled gently. “It’s a gift,” he joked which made his partner chuckle.

“Yeah...,” the younger man continued. His one eye met Hashirama’s steadily. “Just sometimes I forget that. How well you can expose me.”

Hashirama tilted his head to the side. This conversation wasn’t the first time they’ve had it. They’ve had it on and off throughout the years. I was the first time, the artist didn’t know where it was leading to.

His lover huffed at him, a small fond smile on his face. “I got overwhelmed,” he admitted while his smile dropped away. “Because you love me so much to be willing to do this. You’re so proud of me. I can’t even describe how happy I was at seeing all those works of me that you showed off to everyone. And I love it! I love all of it! It’s just....”

He hesitated as he tried to find the words. “It's just one thing to be exposed to _you._ It’s another thing entirely when you expose me to _other people so suddenly.”_

Hashirama was embarrassed to say that it took him a moment to understand what his partner meant, but when he did, it hit him like a ton of bricks. He immediately stopped what he was doing and crumbled against Obito’s body with a dark face and beating himself over the head. His muse, bless him, just laughed loudly as his antics as he held the artist’s body against him.

Obito was like Hashirama in many ways; one of those being to show the world a certain face even if the artist was more open with his feelings. In his eagerness to show said world his muse, the man that allowed Hashirama to lay claim to him and see all the beautiful broken parts of his soul, he hadn’t really taken into account how Obito might feel about it. He knew the younger man wouldn’t necessarily _mind,_ hence why he went through with his plan, but asking, rather than just discussing it like it was hypothetical act as he done in the past, would have probably been better.

Hashirama whined pitefully as he moved to bring his lover into the biggest and tightest hug he could. He nuzzled Obito’s neck and pleaded, “Are you mad? Please don’t be mad.”

Obito snorted. “I just told you,” he explained with a roll of of his eye, “that I was overwhelmed. I am happy. Also shocked, but not mad!”

Hashirama let out a relieved sigh as he pulled back to look at his partner’s face. “I’m sorry,” he continued to plead. “I didn’t think.”

His lover raised an eyebrow at him that stated ‘clearly.’

Hashirama pouted as he went on. “I just really wanted to show people how I see you! You’re _amazing! Magnificent!”_ It pleased him at seeing the faint blush that cover his lover’s cheek. He pushed through the urge to kiss him again, but compromised by cupping the younger’s man face, and continued,

“You’re my muse. I want to show you off! You allowed me to love you and I wanted to show the man that I get to see.” He paused. “But I didn’t show everything,” he promised.

Then he continued to add, “It’s the same for me when it comes to you. I know I express and open myself more to people, both in person and through my art. But there’s certain things only you’ve seen, that only you’ll ever see. I wanted to show others how incredible you are but I didn’t show all of it. I will never show all of it. Those pieces are just for me to see, like how I show you mine, and I will _never_ reveal everything.”

He could have went on but his partner’s face was beet red, radiated heat in the artist’s hands. Obito did smile at him shyly though. “Like I said,” he whispered as he leaned forward, “you’re an impossible idiot.” He then caught Hashirama’s lips.

The Senju pressed back but groaned when Obito pulled away after a brief moment. The Uchiha’s face was less red as he added,

“I know what you were getting at. And I’m happy you feel that way. Happy you want to. You always said you wanted to.” Almost bashfully, he casted his eye aside. “And I know. I know you would never expose my fully. And I’m glad you trust me enough to show me all of you.” He then looked back with a small smirk and a playful eye.

“I just never knew that you had _that_ many pieces of me though!” he teased.

“I have more,” the artist blurted out in relief as he smiled. His partner was making jokes which told the older man he wasn’t upset and understood to a degree. He then pouted slightly as he added, “I wanted to put almost everything out but Tobirama said to only choose the best ones.”

Obito looked at him with a wide eye and slack jawed. Then he busted out laughing. “What the hell, Hashi!”

“Do you know how hard it was,” the artist continued to bemoan, only making his partner laugh harder. “It was impossible! How could I choose just a few when you’re so beautiful in all of them!”

“Only to you,” Obito chortled.

Hashirama pulled up short, blinked at his lover before he frowned.

Obito must have realized what he had let slip as he stopped laughing and looked at his partner with a wide eye.

Again serious, Hashirama stated, “I hate it when you say things like that.”

To his credit, Obito didn’t cast his eye aside sheepishly like he had done in the past when the topic was brought up, though it was a near thing. Instead, he said, “And we know how people- strangers- normally look at me. I’m not the typical beauty like you or your ex.”

It took Hashirama to figure out when he was talking about. “You mean Mito?” he questioned with wide eyes.

Obito frowned which to Hashirama looked more like a pout. “I’m not _blind,”_ he stated as his arms tightened around the artist’s shoulders. “She’s gorgeous.”

“But she’s not you!” The Senju protested. Then the memory of Obito’s face earlier came to his mind and something clicked. “Were you jealous?” he added. He couldn’t deny that the idea tickled him a little.

“I was not!” Obito snapped but his face became very red and looked a little off to the side.

When his lover tired to pull away, Hashirama braced him further against the glass. It wasn’t much of a fight as Obito’s legs opened to allow Hashirama hips in and the younger man kept his arms tightly around the artist’s shoulders. Still, he looked a mix between unimpressed and a little upset, face still red.

“You were,” Hashirama giggled with a wide grin on his face. Obito didn’t necessarily get jealous often but when he did, the artist couldn’t help and think how adorable it was. He didn’t get possessive, just very pouty.

As the Senju expected, it didn’t take much of a fight before Obito admitted, “ _Fine._ So I noticed how gorgeous she was and how beautiful of a couple you two made. So _sue_ me.”

After his statement, he turned his head to the right and showed his lovely eye patch but hid his face.

Hashirama giggled. “My silly muse,” he teased as he leaned in and nuzzled his partner’s cheek. “No one is going to take me away from you.”

Obito huffed and turned back to face his lover. “That would imply I’m worried you’re going to leave me,” he teased back. He smiled widely. “And I’m not because you’re mine.”

Hashirama laughed at that, with a warm feeling in his chest.

After that day in the garden, the eventually had the talk about Hashirama’s feelings. It both surprised and delighted the older man when he learned that Obito felt the same way. He also felt relieved when the younger man had the same sort of reservations. After all, neither of them were things, and neither of them felt the want to control their partner. But there was a sense of rightness at being able to call someone their own. It wasn’t necessarily being possessive but the fact that another person allowed them the chance to say ‘they’re mine.’ Each still had their own lives but it was comforting at the end of the day to know someone, not matter who they were with or where they were, was considered ‘theirs.’ That their heart and soul belonged to each other.

Unable to stop himself, Hashirama joked, “So you admit you were jealous!”

“Oh my God...,” Obito groaned with an eye turned up the the Heaven’s, pleadingly.

Hashirama laughed and only laughed harder once Obito hit him on the back of the head and told him to stop it. But he couldn’t and continued even when he felt fingers dig into his hair and he was pulled into a deep kiss.

He only stopped when he felt a swipe of a tongue against his lips. He moaned, surprised, and opened his mouth to chase it. Only he was denied when Obito pulled away and whined. From the teasing smirk and a warm eye that held both fondness and mirth, his lover knew exactly what he was doing.

Hashirama pouted which only made Obito chuckle. “My impossible idiot,” he teased as his smirk grew and eye so soft it made the older man want to giggle and weep.

Instead he grinned, big and bright. “My silly muse,” he breathed with soft eyes and nipped his partner’s lips.

The blush his lover got delighted the Senju and he leaned down with every intent to kiss his partner senseless. Obito seemed to know and obliged by meeting him halfway.

Yet as their lips captured each others there was a booming bang and the lights overhead turned on. “What the hell are you doing in my office!”

Both artist and muse jumped, forced to break their kiss, and looked to see Madara glaring at the duo. Behind him, the Opening continued but some people looked over at their direction.

“Ah! Madara!” Hashirama tittered as his face heated up. He wanted to pull away but Obito seemed to have other ideas and kept the older man firmly in place. He glanced at his lover to see him pouting and knew he wasn’t going to get out anytime soon. And if he was honest, he didn’t want to.

He turned his gaze back at Madara and explained, “We were just talking.”

“With your tongues down each other’s throats?” Madara seethed.

“We never got that far,” Obito grumbled with a devious pout. “Thanks to a certain _someone.”_ He sent a pointed look at the older Uchiha.

Clearly not having these games, Hashirama imagined he could hear from across the room how hard Madara ground his teeth from how tightly he clenched his jaw.

“Get. Out. Now!” he hissed as he stepped inside.

Hashirama squeezed his muse’s hips in warning and Obito sighed but nodded and began to untangle himself.

“We really were just talking,” Hashirama promised as he took Obito’s hand and they walked toward the door.

The older Uchiha sent him a glare, clearly not believing him. The artist sighed in resignation and Obito sent back a sharp glare of his own.

Once outside, Madara quickly locked the door before he rounded on them. “How did you even know where we were?” Obito asked before Madara could even speak.

The older man pressed his lips firmly together, took a deep breath, before he spoke to Hashirama. “Tobirama is looking for you.” He then turned to Obito and added, “Overheard him asking one your friends. She said you ran into my office.”

His eyes narrowed. “Now my question, how did you get in? I personally locked it before the Opening.”

“Must have not done a very good job then,” Obito jabbed with a deadpan expression that, despite himself, made Hashirama smirk.

“It was unlocked,” Obito added. “I wouldn’t have gotten in other wise.”

Madara became confused at first before a slow dawning horror came over his face.

Hashirama was about to ask what was wrong when Obito beat him to it, apparently having figured it out if the wide devious smirk was anything to go by. “Izuna brought one of his boy toys, didn’t he?”

He looked _ecstatic_ as Madara’s face morphed into one of disgusted pain.

Hashirama choked down a laugh, now understanding as well. Seeing Obito ready to tease the older Uchiha, the artist decided to take pity on his best friend. He leaned into his lover’s ear, breath ghosting over it, and was rewarded with a shiver and a little blush.

“Let’s go see what my brother wants,” he offered quietly. “Then I want to show you more of the galleries.” He pulled back and waved at Madara before he ushered Obito away.

“Good luck finding your brother,” he called as Madara moved to hunt his little brother down. No doubt Izuna would get an earful on what could have happened tonight in the office.

“You should have let me tease him,” Obito complained with a pout.

Hashirama couldn’t help but snicker. “We would have been there forever.”

Obito smirked. “Would have been totally worth it.”

The artist just devolved into laughter at that.

The rest of the Opening went off without a hitch. People did warm up to the two and became captivated by Obito. With the help of the artwork, people saw him as Hashirama saw him, and the artist could have wept at seeing how jovial his partner was. The younger man even came away with new friends and business contacts.

And while the Opening was fantastic, the best part of the night happened when they went back to Obito’s apartment.

Both of them laid naked in bed, too tired to actually do anything but wanted to be as close together without any barriers. Hashirama laid on his back while Obito was plastered to his right side. The younger man was on his side, half on top of the artist, head rested on Hashirama’s shoulder near his neck. Their legs, at least Obito’s one leg and thigh, were entangled together.

Neither of them were asleep nor did they look at each other. Their eyes half lidded as they both were quiet. The Uchiha’s right hand, that was resting over the artist’s heart, played with a lock of the Senju’s hair and watched as he did. In response, Hashirama had placed his left hand on top of Obito’s, while his right laced through his lover’s shorter hair and massaged the scalp.

Hashirama had a sleepy smile on his face as he admired the top of his lover’s head. He was still so amazed and content that Obito would chose him, even after the years and tonight. He didn’t have to look to know Obito probably wore the same expression.

Helpless to stop, he moved his head to lean down and pressed his mouth into Obito’s hair. “I love you,” he whispered into the strands before he allowed his head to fall back on the pillow. Three little words. They would always feel inadequate but they were the only ones he knew to try and express the depth of his affection.

Obito’s head turned and Hashirama felt a pair of lips being pressed against his skin. “I love you too,” his partner whispered back with such sleepy conviction it warmed the artist’s heart. Obito then snuggled back against Hashirama’s side.

As sleep overcame them, Hashirama made one silent thanks, one he had been saying since that day in the garden, to all the deities he knew for sending Obito into his life. Because his muse, his love, was more than the artist could ever hope and dream of. They allowed the barriers they had mad to be dropped and knew the other would never betray their trust. He looked forward to the days to come, where Obito would always be by his side, as they both continued to love and be exposed to each other.

**Author's Note:**

> *looks at piece with sheepish amusement*  
> Well this certainly went deeper and longer than I intended.
> 
> Anyway I hope you all enjoyed! I am sorry if that characters seem to OOC but I tried to keep them close as possible while adding some dimension. 
> 
> If you wish to add a comment, or even send me something on my tumblr, Malakia215, please feel free. 
> 
> I apologize if there is any spelling or grammar mistakes. I am my own editor, so there might be things I have missed.
> 
> Lastly, I am also dedicating this HashiObi fanfics to Blackkatmagic since they were the one that got me into this ship! THANKS FOR GIVING ME SOMETHING I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED! GO CHECK THEM OUT! THEIR WRITING IS AMAZING!
> 
> *Stalks off to go work on my HashiObi fics*


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